After the War
by MakingDayBreak
Summary: "You get used to it, he told himself." Harry has left the Wizarding World, but some things are just too hard to face. One-shot. Rated T for mentions of drug use.


**Hey, folks. If any of you have come from IWHiQD, this is probably a bit darker than you are used to. This will probably be either a one-shot or a series of one-shots. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I making money off of, Harry Potter. Do not send the lawyers after me.**

You get used to it, he told himself.

That was the strangest part, really. That one could get used to sleeping with shoes on, or not eating every day. Even when a piece of crumpled newspaper blew by, skittering on the sidewalk, one could tell the difference between that and a rat's paws on cement. Harry had gotten used to it. He had stopped being cold when the wind blew and stopped itching at his feet when the laces were tied tight. He had to tie the laces tight, otherwise he wouldn't feel it when someone tried to steal his shoes while he was asleep. One of those lessons you lean the hard way.

Harry got used to the long, cold nights hiding from gang-bangers and drunks. He got used to 'respectable' people sneering at him when he showed his face on the streets during the day. He even got used to the dirt and trash and bugs and things found only in abandoned alleys and gutters. The one thing Harry would never get used to was the loneliness. Silence, he could deal with. Silence was something he craved, but having no one to share it with? That was true hardship. But you put up with those kind of pains when you were on he run.

It had been almost two years since Harry had seen a wizard. The realization hit him that day when he passed the newspaper stand on 7th Street and glimpsed the date. May 18th. Two years since the defeat of the Dark Lord. He shivered and moved on, keeping his head down. That world seemed so far from him now. You get used to it.

Chicago, Illinois, USA had a small magical district, but most of the witches and wizards kept to themselves. Harry kept far, far away from them, even if some of them had never heard of Voldemort. Or himself. He wanted to stay hidden from the magical world.

"Fancy a smoke?" One of the street-druggies asked. Harry shook his head and moved on. He hadn't realized at first how many drugs were on the streets, but he was used to it now. He would never touch the stuff if he could help it.

Finally, Harry found a small disused door off the main street and slipped inside. He was greeted by a long hall, just like he was told, and several wood doors. One of them seemed to have a full-blown party behind it, if the screams and loud music were anything to go by. He moved swiftly past it to the door that was painted red.

When he knocked on it, a voice sounded within, followed by shuffling and the sound of feet on creaky wood floor. The door cracked and a pale, sallow face shoved through.

"Whaddaya want? I paid the rent this week!" Said the face.

Harry schooled his features and said it exactly as he had been told. "The Sparrow would like a word."

As he suspected, this man was in debt. His face turned death white. "Come-come in, sir," he muttered. The door opened wide.

Harry stepped inside, shrugging off his cloak to reveal swimmer's shoulders and a strong build. The man balked even further. "The man who sent me seems to believe you owe him a sum," Harry said delicately. "He has asked that you refund his loan."

The man made to open is mouth, closed it, then nodded fiercely. "Of course, sir," he said, still went to the rusty metal bedframe in one corner, pulled a box from under it, and a key from around his neck. He unlocked it with shaking fingers. Harry watched for signs of a weapon in the box, but he saw no glint of metal. Only the dirty, wrinkled bills clutched in the man's hand. He turned back shakily.

Harry took a moment to realize that the man was probably younger than him, and much smaller. He might have been in school still, except for the smell of smoke and alcohol and the nicotine stains on his teeth. His hair was falling out, and his hands never stopped shaking.

Harry took the bills, counted them, and for once had the correct amount. He turned to leave, but something stopped him.

"You don't have to stay here, boy." He murmured.

The kid-for that's all he was-looked at him like he was crazy. "What?"

"Look," Harry said, "There's a halfway house three blocks from here. They will take you in, give you food and a place to sleep. Keep you safe."

The boy scoffed. "I don't need anyone."

"You are living in a weekly-rent-a-room in a brothel. You owed money to a drug Lord. You have no food and you are living with a locked box with all your possessions. You need someone."

The kid stared at him, this time in cautious disbelief. "Why do you care?"

Harry fixed him with one sharp, green eye. "Because you have life. You are alive, and I can't count on two hands the times I almost died in the last decade."

Then he turned and walked out, slipping his coat back on.

Harry was used to it, he told himself. Used to the hiding, the suffering he endured. But he had never been able to ignore the suffering of others. The pain of a teen mom on the streets. The drug-addicted shells of humans, looking like a dementor kissed them until they saw hope for their next fix. The children who could not hide from their angry, drunk parents. There were some things even the Savior of the Wizarding World could not face.

**Hope you liked it! Leave a review.**

**MDB**


End file.
